In A Name: Side Acts
by MManipulative33
Summary: One-Shot Collection. Where any In A Name scenes that didn't make the cut converge to see the light of your computer screen. MarikOC and other random bits and bobs. Please note that each shot is individually rated and at present, Shot 5: Get Freaky is rated M for solo smut.
1. Shot 1: On A Mission

**Ataahua:** Alrighty. So this one-shot is the first of what will hopefully be many. It's a silly, sarcastic and hopefully somewhat amusing shot and we totally recommend reading it for a bit of extra context on a future scene we'll likely be including in In A Name: Act I. Also, if you've somehow come across this fic and haven't read IAN: Act I, we modestly recommend that you check it out before reading its side fics, like this one. Anywho, hope everyone enjoys this shot!

 **Character/s:** Marik Ishtar **  
Genre/s:** Humour  
 **Rating:** T for sexual references and perhaps mildly offensive slang  
 **POV/Tense:** Third person/past tense  
 **When in the IAN timeline:** About two months before the start of IAN: Act I. Marik is fifteen, probably in North America for some Rare Huntery business.  
 **Summary:** Marik's boyish curiosities lead him to a very special section of the grocery store.

* * *

 **IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS  
Shot #1: On A Mission**

Marik strode through the supermarket with purpose, only one goal and one alone occupying his inquisitive mind. He passed the fruit and veggies, despite being an avid vegetarian with a weakness for bland, barely palatable monstrosities hardly worthy of being called soup.

He sauntered on by the frozen French fries sale, despite his penchant for foods that pack a punch to the taste buds whilst concurrently needing minimal effort to prep. He secretly sucked at cooking. Also, he loved potatoes.

He didn't even glance at the makeup stand, and not because the kohl caked over his eyes had blinded the pretty boy. (Seriously, didn't he know how damaging real kohl was for his eyes?)

Err… Anyway…

Marik was a man on a mission. And if there was one thing that got him in the zone, it was the superfluous desire to satisfy his boyish curiosities… in a mildly sexual way.

Suddenly, his steps slowed. Lavender eyes levitated to the hefty sign that hung from the ceiling by sturdy chains, satisfaction shimmering in their depths as they fell upon two particular words: Family Planning.

Fortunately, World's Biggest Asshole was planning no such thing.

Nonetheless, Marik moved forward. Steps that had just been suave and certain were now filled with dread, and the irksome inclination that he was a fool for yielding to such juvenile intrigue. As he slowly approached the towering shelf of condoms, an odd and unfamiliar feeling of ignorance filled his being.

For the first time in his teenage life, Marik didn't know what the frack to do.

What member muzzler should he purchase—

An elderly woman ambled around a nearby corner and down the aisle, compelling him to promptly reach for the hair gel one shelf along. A master of subtly, Marik was.

Yep. That lady totally thought he was eyeing up the spiffy looking hair gel he was holding in his ridiculously well-moisturised palms. Now he just needed to read the front, seem a little more convincing and all that.

Hmm.

Long-lasting formula. Doesn't dry out. Non-sticky, smooth feeling. Silicone-based formula. Latex compatib—

Shit.

He was eyeing up anal lube.

With a painfully awkward clear of his throat and an utterly mortified look, Marik shoved the stuff in the first empty spot he saw.

Okay. _Now_ he'd never felt so ignorant in his life.

Hoping to wait out the old lady's presence, Blondie strived to ignore the disturbing fact she was now the one staring down cock socks as he detoured to an area of the aisle that was far more familiar to him.

Ten minutes later and he'd completely distracted himself by sniffing nearly every hand cream on offer. The vanilla scented stuff got a double-sniff. Strawberry stuff was lucky enough to earn a triple-sniff, though he was partial to that particular scent on women only. And only after plucking a vanilla scented cream off the shelf – and sandalwood so he seemed a little manlier at the counter – did the Egyptian realise the aisle was empty.

It had probably been empty for the last nine minutes.

Another clear of his throat later and Marik was once again wandering over to his real reason for being there, trying and failing to look remotely inconspicuous.

All right. Back to eyeing up the poppa stoppas.

What texture should he go for? And what about flavour?

Hm. There was chocolate, watermelon, vanilla and strawberry. Or the simplicity of a flavourless willy wrapper.

Marik glanced at one of the two unopened creams held firmly in his right hand, pressed between long piano fingers. The sweeter scented cream made the decision for him.

Vanilla, obviously. No, wait. He only planned on trying one out alone, fulfilling his silly curiosities and all that. Why go for the flavoured stuff?

Well… Marik supposed he'd need to use the rest of the box at some point but…

Hm.

Na. He'd go for flavourless.

So what brand should he buy?

Trojan or Glyde? Durex or Lifestyles? Pasante or Kimono?

What kind of name was Kimono? Sounded like a Japanese garment for one's dong. Though in thinking that, the word did mean 'thing to wear', so he supposed that made sense.

Anyway, he was getting side-tracked again.

Condom brands.

He'd heard of Trojan and Durex. They seemed like trustworthy brands, despite the counterintuitive name of the former. And they both did extra-large.

Perfect.

Marik glanced up and down the aisle, affirming that he was still alone. After tucking his hand creams under one arm, he timidly reached for an extra-large box from both brands. He scrutinised each one, the Durex a striking shade of sky blue with plain, white font and the Trojan simply black with gold, slightly more obtrusive font.

He quickly noticed a problem: the products were both around eight inches in length.

Mr Thinks Of Everything totally didn't check before he left, but the things were both about half an inch too short. As if his ego couldn't soar any higher.

Fortunately, though, Durex had his back. Marik could've sworn some generic choir music was playing in the background as his eyes laid upon an extra, extra-large box of condoms, the stock full and untouched near the top of the shelf. He bit back a proud smirk as he plonked the two smaller boxes back in their former resting places and grabbed the larger box for himself, his whole mood having had the old switcharoo at the satisfying size revelation.

Marik's inner perfectionist had always loathed dust, but when he noticed the top of the box was covered in the stuff, his ego must've swelled to double its size. (Hopefully it was the only thing doing so in that moment.)

Minutes later, Blondie suavely approached the counter. The cashier behind it, a redheaded girl about his age, flashed a bubbly grin his way.

"Hi there," she enthused, as he placed the box of love gloves and the two tubs of hand cream on the off-black conveyor belt, its rubbery surface somewhat smudged and scratched. He coolly withdrew his leather wallet from the shallow pocket of his deep blue denim jeans and glanced at her name badge.

"Afternoon, Amalia."

Her smile grew at his use of her name. And then she glanced at his purchases. Of course, he barely bit back a cocky smirk as her green eyes processed the pack of pecker ponchos, blinking twice. When her eyebrows soared... well, he finally couldn't resist a smirk spreading across his lips.

 _That's right, Amalia. Extra_ extra _large. Fifteen and still growing, too._

Amalia reached for the box, flushing a fair few shades of red in the process. As she swiped it over the scanner and spared an uncomfortable glance his way, her cheeks finally went beet red. His barely stifled smirk was likely to blame.

As if to heighten his amusement, the redhead tried to play it cool. "So how're you today?"

"Perfect, thank you," Marik returned, fishing his card from his wallet. "And you?"

"Not too bad, thanks." She cleared her throat. "Uhh. Would you like a bag?"

The Marik equivalent of an 'if you've got it, flaunt it' immediately crossed his mind.

"No, that won't be necessary."

"All right," she said with a nod and another small smile, setting the box down on the pale grey counter to her left. Then she swiped his hand creams and her brows seemed to soar again.

That only had Marik's blond brows gathering in brief bewilderment; brief because it only took a moment for a terrifying realisation to slap him hard across the face.

Hand cream and condoms. Oh Ra. Did she think he was using the stuff as some kind of creepy lubricant for…

Immediately, Marik wished he'd accepted the plastic bag. Or worn his usual black cargo pants with the deep pockets.

But he couldn't ask now. She'd probably think he really _did_ plan on using the creams for some sexual purpose. (Honestly, the jerk was just way too proud to go back on his answer. And in other news, water is wet.)

Amalia set the creams down alongside his box of stiffy stockings and rung up his order, perhaps with her head down a little more than it usually would be. Regardless, the blush upon her lightly tanned, freckle-flecked cheeks was still painfully obvious.

"Was that everything for today?"

"Yes," he answered bluntly.

Of course, the girl throwing Sir Jerk-A-Lot off his high horse, unintentionally or otherwise, had soured his mood. That didn't stop confusion from fleetingly crossing her face at his apparent bipolar-ness. With another sheepish clear of her throat, Amalia tapped a few buttons on the register and the credit card machine flashed to life on his right.

"Okay. That comes to fifty-two dollars and twenty nice cents, please."

Marik spared a glance at his purchases and grimaced, another mood switcharoo clearly evident. The look remained along with the implication of those damn creams as he paid for his things. He was soon sliding his wallet back in his pocket and refusing an incriminating receipt from Amalia. (Odion would either kill him or never let him live it down if he somehow saw it.)

With no thanks to offer, Marik gathered his purchases and grimaced harder still.

"I hope you have a great day," Amalia stated, likely realising after the fact that her words could totally be taken the wrong way given the... uhh... salami sleeves he'd just bought. At least, that was what he gathered when she resumed her enactment of a rosy red tomato, blushing now more than ever.

For once, Marik didn't relish the humiliation of another. He was too busy wrestling with his pride over some certain, infuriatingly embarrassing words of his own.

Amalia, seeming to notice his reluctance to leave, hesitantly broke the painful silence that had been hanging low over her station for at least five seconds.

"Uhh. _Was_ there something else I could help out with?"

Marik's amethyst eyes slowly rose from his things to meet her gaze. He was sure he'd never felt more humiliated in his life. Not even when Odion had tried to give him The Talk a few months back, and even _that_ had been absolutely painful.

"Actually," he said quietly, utterly loathing the way his cheeks burned, "is it too late to take you up on that bag?"

* * *

 **Ataahua:** Hope you found this as amusing to read as it was to write. It was just something silly and short that we thought we'd share. If there's a particular scenario you'd like to see for a future one-shot please do let us know in a review or a private message; we'll definitely see what we can do. Suggestions or requests are welcomed for a mix of any characters featured in IAN and at any point in the IAN timeline: pre, during or post Battle City and IAN: Act I or its sequels. Anywho, please don't forget to review and follow on your way out and have a really lovely day or night ahead. :D


	2. Shot 2: Questions & Answers

**Ataahua:** Hey guys. So we know this isn't Chapter 29 of IAN, but it's better than nothing, right? Also, this gives us the chance to tell ya'll that yes, we're still working on IAN and yes, we still plan on finishing it and doing a sequel. Things are becoming a lot darker in IAN and it's kinda throwing us off, despite it being necessary with Battle City fast approaching; plus the latest chapter's just proving super difficult and has been through major revisions. Oh, and (now resolved) laptop troubles have hindered us. In any case, we're super frustrated and we know you guys are prolly getting antsy too after Chapter 28's evil cliffhanger. Here's hoping an update comes sooner rather than later, though! In the meantime, please enjoy this little one-shot between Ish and Mar. :)

 **Character/s:** A'isha Dahar, Amara Dahar  
 **Genre/s:** Family/angst/slice of life-esque  
 **Rating:** T for sexual references  
 **POV/Tense:** Third person A'isha/past tense  
 **When in the IAN timeline:** Mon 10 Dec 2012. Two days after A'isha was mugged and learned Marik's name (Sat 8 Dec 2012) and five days before In A Name: Act I's first chapter (Sat 15 Dec 2012).  
 **Summary:** Two days after that Godawful night, A'isha has countless questions for her ever-infuriating cousin. To her dismay, Amara's answers somehow leave her feeling ten million times worse.

* * *

 **IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS  
Shot #2: Questions & Answers**

As always, Amara's mouth was running a mile a minute, and A'isha was wondering how she hadn't shot herself in the face yet.

Just another morning en route to high school.

"So remind me why we're driving again?" Amara asked from the passenger seat, absently eyeing her freshly painted nails, hot pink and glossy. "I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything. I get to wear my heels today and everyone knows a girl's booty goes from flat to full in a snap when pumps are involved." She glanced up from her nails to the disinterested girl behind the wheel. "But, like, you know…" She either didn't care to notice or was completely oblivious to the grimace A'isha had worn all morning. "You always make us walk when the sun's out."

A'isha's eyes remained rooted to the road, focused on the early morning traffic. "I felt like sleeping in," she lied. It was certainly better than telling her gossip-prone cousin the truth; that the mere concept of walking the same route she'd been attacked on was absolutely petrifying. _Actually_ walking it would probably end in a mental breakdown.

She wished that was an exaggeration.

"You should sleep in more often." At least there was one good thing about Amara's inability to read people. She couldn't tell a lie from a leprechaun. "'Cause then I can talk to Nathan for an extra half hour. Maybe even an hour."

"I'm not supporting your unhealthy obsession, Mar."

"Um. It's not like it affects _you_ ," Amara sassed, her button nose in the air.

"It will when you get knocked up one day and _I'm_ the one on damage control."

Amara looked visibly taken aback. At least, from what A'isha could see in her peripheral vision. "Woah… Where the heck did _that_ come from, you freaking psycho!?" she eventually sputtered, for once forgetting her nails. "I'm on the pill and I always make sure they pull out—"

A'isha hit the brakes a little harder than intended, conveniently cutting her cousin's shrieks short. For once, she was relieved to have had a yellow light. "The pill doesn't work when you miss it half the time," she shrieked, "and don't even get me started on the friggin' pull out method."

"And Nathan said condoms take away the feeling so—"

"Oh, cry me a river!" A'isha barked, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "He still comes, doesn't he? He prolly just takes longer and last I checked, lasting longer's a _good_ thing!"

"It…" Amara hesitated. "It still feels good for me."

Ish snorted, sensing her doubt. "Also, if a guy's got the gall to whine about a condom, he's not mature enough to be having sex in the flippin' first place!"

"Oh my _gosh_!" Amara squawked. "What the fuck is up with you!?"

"You're unbelievable. You know that?"

"Why the hell am I—"

"Do you even give two craps that I almost died this weekend?" She loathed the way her voice cracked. "If you hadn't raided my wallet I—"

"How was I supposed to know those creeps would attack you!?"

A'isha stared daggers at the busy street ahead. "That's not the point!" she snapped, her mind manipulated by the merciless hands of exhaustion. Sleep had been a rare thing these past two nights. She had a feeling that fact wouldn't change anytime soon and with it, her emotions would no doubt end up on the fritz.

In that moment, her body seemed to seek proof that her thoughts were true. Tears had surged in her dark blue eyes, blurring the green light that hung overhead. She wiped her eyes, eased forward, then pulled over the moment it was safe to do so.

Driving when peeved was never a good move, though Amara didn't seem to agree. She huffed, slumping in her seat with criss-crossed arms. "Why are you always out to get me, huh?!" The girl glared straight out the passenger window. "Seriously? Why?! It's not like I _tried_ to get you killed or anything."

A'isha scoffed. How could she really be so damn blind? She may have been the spawn of Evil Elsie, but even that shouldn't excuse such a ridiculous level of selfishness. "You know, it happened two nights ago and you still haven't even apologised. What does that say about you?"

"Fine!" Amara screeched, hostilely throwing her arms in the air. "Sorry I took your money to go to a freaking party!"

"Wooow. That was _so_ sincere."

"Well, I had my own problems to deal with, y'know?!" Amara's stare didn't budge from the passenger window. As always in such situations, she was stubbornly refusing to make eye contact. "Like, Dad's super pissed and now I'm grounded from using anything – _anything_ – with a screen! How am I supposed to text my friends now?" Of course, she was choosing _now_ to start tearing up, feeling sorry for _herself_. "And I'm gonna be missing New Girl and—Ugh! No sleepovers for a month! I'm gonna be so freaking bored!"

The look A'isha wore said it all, but she translated anyway. It's not like the obstinate girl was watching her. "Are you seriously kidding me, Amara? You _chose_ to go to that party. You _chose_ to chat up that eighteen-year-old guy. You _chose_ to hop in his stupidly souped up car. You're lucky Ahad found you before the dumbass crashed the thing and killed your reckless butt!"

"For fucks sake, why do you always think the worst?!"

"I'd rather think the worst than have my head forever stuck up my ass!"

"You're… You're such a _bitch_!"

A'isha ground her teeth. Briefly, she considered shoving the girl right out that damn passenger door she seemed to like staring down so much. Making her walk certainly sounded less stressful than driving even five more minutes with her. "I seriously don't understand how you can be so ignorant, Amara." Her grip on the steering wheel remained steady and firm as she glanced her cousin's way. Unsurprisingly, she was met by the back of Amara's head, her jet-black hair falling down her front, reaching her narrow hips. "In fact, I _refuse_ to believe you really _are_ as ignorant as you seem." She sighed. "I just hope that one day you let that stubbornness slide and prove me right."

"Just drive already." A'isha didn't miss the way Amara's voice shook as she spoke, anything but level. She wondered if it was too much to think the girl might've just felt guilty. "I was over this conversation before it even started, plus I've got a lot of people to catch up with before class." Mar pouted again. "It's not like I can freaking _text_ any of them."

A'isha rolled her eyes and flicked on the indicator, deciding to go along with her cousin's request. This conversation was a lost cause anyway.

* * *

 **Ataahua:** All I can say is thank goodness Amara's getting better in later IAN. Right now, I just wanna slap her silly. We know this was kinda slice of life-esque and had no Marik, but we hope you liked it regardless. Please review and follow for more IAN shots. And if you have any requests, we'd love to hear them! I know I've had a hankering to write a shot where Marik and A'isha are doing something as friends or a couple, but I don't know if you guys wanna see that yet because IAN: Act I isn't finished. Also, we currently have a poll on our profile page. Feel free to check it out! As always, we hope you have an awesome day or night ahead! :D


	3. Shot 3: A Single Step

**Ataahua:** Hooray for another shot! Chapter 29, can you please work with us like all of these shots are? K thanks bye. Lol. Anywho, we hope you like the POV change in this shot – and the shot itself, of course!

 **Character/s:** Ahad Dahar, A'isha Dahar, Elissa Dahar… also mentions Hani'ah Dahar (Ish's mum), Almahdi Dahar (Ish's dad), and A'isha's unnamed paternal grandparents.  
 **Genre/s:** Family  
 **Rating:** K+  
 **POV/Tense:** Third person Ahad/past tense  
 **When in the IAN timeline:** The late afternoon of Monday 9th July 1997. Six months after A'isha's parents passed away in that ick car accident. She's nine months old here.  
 **Summary** : In which A'isha achieves a very special (and adorkable) milestone.

* * *

" _A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." – Lao Tzu_

* * *

 **IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS  
Shot #3: A Single Step**

He'd spent most of the day in bed, studying the inside of his eyelids. Even then, he'd still been exhausted. It was summer, a time he found often brought out the more moronic side of society. And with it, bucket loads of late nights at work. The sweltering heat incited raucous house parties, empty shot glasses, careless pill-popping—and, by extension, far too many poor choices.

Not that humanity was ever short on _those_.

He was no exception.

But Ahad liked to think he'd learnt from his mistakes; that he hadn't just swept them under the proverbial rug, with its loose threads and _particularly_ worn surface. Yep, he'd screwed up quite a lot in his life.

" _Who hasn't?"_ he often told himself. _"You live and learn."_

That was one of his brother's favourite sayings—a rather ironic one, given his untimely demise. At least he'd learnt a lot in his twenty-four years of life.

The rubber plug dangled from the chain in Ahad's thick fingers, swaying slightly beneath the artificial light overhead. A murky reflection stared back at him; it was faint, barely discernible through the soapy water. That was probably a good thing.

At only twenty-five years old, he looked a decade older and felt double that. His caramel skin had been a shade lighter for months, his sunken, hazel eyes framed by dark circles. Seldom-seen stubble littered his jawline, verging on straight-up beard territory, and his staple short, glossy locks were now mussed and straw-like, the black strands dull and in desperate need of a cut. At the right angle—or in his opinion, the _horribly_ _wrong_ angle—he could even pinpoint a few thinner, patchy spots. That was probably a consequence of his recently acquired habit of wriggling his fingers through it. Then again, was it a recent habit, or something he'd always done when times were especially tough?

It's funny. You often don't realise how good things are going 'til they come to a bitter, abrupt and often unpredictable end.

He would know.

These past six months he'd been thrown through the ringer. Every day, he walked around in a dazed, dream-like state like he was living his life through the lens of a looking glass. His mother passed away a year ago, claimed by the cruel hands of cancer. Only three months later, his father had followed, plucked from the earth by a sudden heart attack; he'd left Ahad's life just days before A'isha had entered it.

Little had he known the Reaper would steal yet another loved one. Two, in fact. Another three months later.

How did the old saying go? Catastrophes always come in threes?

Three tragedies. Three phone calls. And three months between each.

He really did hate that number.

Ahad was torn from his reveries by the sudden sound of something slapping repetitively against the stark white tiles. He did a double-take.

And just like that, any and all bitter thoughts were thrust from existence as he embraced his inner goldfish. His mouth opened and closed half a dozen times, his tired eyes all but bulging from their sockets.

The first thing he saw was a baby's bottom, its owner quietly giggling to herself as though hatching up the most despicable plan known to man.

For the first time ever, A'isha was walking on her own. Well, more like waddling. Her left hand was empty, held high in the air like a party goer at a rave. In her right hand, however, was a scrunched-up dress, another offensively pink, frou-frou piece from the second hand-store.

Elissa refused to buy her anything new: clothes, toys, strollers, not even her pink potty. Once, she'd even tried to buy an opened, half empty container of milk formula at a garage sale.

Ahad drew the line there—and at diapers, of course. Fortunately, Elissa didn't try to get _those_ second-hand.

A few seconds later, A'isha reached the toilet, her tiny fingers slowly curling around the seat. Wearing what was arguably the most innocent expression he'd ever seen, the toddler stared up at her uncle with two round, cerulean eyes. And then, with the faintest of _plops_ , she did one of least innocent things he'd probably ever seen her do. She dropped the dress in the toilet.

Like something out of a commercial, she threw her right hand to her lips and let out a gasp.

"Uh oh!"

A moment later, that same hand left her lips to regrip the toilet seat, just like her left hand. Eager to admire her handiwork, she found her tip-toes and leaned over the seat, staring into the bowl with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, bemused disbelief engulfed every syllable.

"A-A'isha!?"

She only giggled louder at that, then lifted a hand to stiffly wave at the soaked garment, almost like a defiant teenager bidding their frenemy a snarkily sweet farewell. He wasn't looking forward to those years. Not with little Ish. Not with his unborn daughter.

"Buh buh!"

Ahad translated that phrase in an instant. He cooed it almost every day as he headed out the door, for another long day of work.

 _Bye bye!_

Cheeky. Just like her father. Her mother too, for that matter. Hani'ah had just been better at hiding it than Almahdi.

Ahad realised he was laughing, the sound loud and hearty. The infamous Dahar laugh. It ran in the family. Back in the day, that hadn't exactly earned him or old Al any brownie points with their teachers. Fortunately, their charm had more than made up for it—especially Al's. A real smooth talker, he'd been. The class clown. The smart allec. And the one with the brains, at least academically. Of course, Ahad had never held that against his dear twin. No ill-will had ever come between them, not even in the shape of a blonde-haired, green-eyed wolf disguised as a wounded lamb.

"A'isha!" Ahad burst, joy blooming from the name. "You're walking! Oh my God! You're walking!"

Dumping the plug in the tub, Ahad bounded over to the grinning girl, scooped her up in his arms and held her high like some weird rendition of Rafiki and baby Simba up on Pride Rock. The Lion King was one of his favourite movies. And hers too.

"Aren't you just the smartest?" he cooed, nuzzling their noses. The Dahar nose. One that crinkled when its owner burst into a fit of laughter, like A'isha was so adorably illustrating right that very second. "Uhh... Yes, you're the smartest! Yes, you _are_! My smart little girl!"

With a playful squeeze of his nose in her thin little fingers, she merrily tittered out his name, "Ugg Ugg!"

Or at least, her take on his name. Uncle Ahad... Ugg Ugg...

Close enough.

"Why don't we go downstairs and show Auntie Elissa what a smart girl you are?"

"Da!"

Translation?

Heck yeah!

In hindsight, Uncle Ahad wondered if his wife would have even torn herself away from Dharma and Greg for two seconds to coo over Ish's first steps. Would she have rolled her eyes and kept watching her show? Would she have snorted, shot him a glare and snapped "so what"? Or maybe— _just_ _maybe_ —would she have shared in his excitement, eager to see her niece's wee steps for herself?

He'd had his suspicions, though supposed he'd never know for sure.

When he'd raced into the living room, A'isha nestled safely in his arms, her tiny fingers toying with his pale blue shirt collar, Ahad had known that very instant that the flickering screen was the last thing on Elissa's mind.

She'd been ramrod straight on the three-seater sofa, gripping her swollen belly as liquid seeped into the beige material beneath her. Through heavy breathes and loud groans and shrill tears, her eyes had met his.

"She's coming, Ahad! Amara's coming!"

* * *

 **Ataahua:** Man, it seems like Amara was stealing poor A'isha's limelight from day one. Not entirely her fault. Na, we'll just blame it on Evil Elsie. When in doubt, blame Elissa! That's how the saying goes, right? Anyway, we hope you liked this and have a great rest of your day! :D


	4. Shot 4: Hot & Cold

**Ataahua:** My goodness, where are all these shots coming from? I guess it makes us feel a _little_ less guilty about the time it's taking us to finish Chapter 29. Kind of. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

 **Character/s:** Amara Dahar, Jordan Erasmus, mentions of A'isha Dahar  
 **Genre/s:** Hurt/comfort… sort of.  
 **Rating:** T for swearing (just once, I think)  
 **POV/Tense:** Third person Amara/past tense  
 **When in the IAN timeline:** Towards the end of Chapter 24: The Trial Date Pt III.  
 **Summary** : A late night baking session turns into an emotionally constipated exchange between Mar and Jordy.

* * *

" _A mistake repeated more than once is a decision." – Unknown_

* * *

 **IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS  
Shot #4: Hot & Cold**

"Just a single cup of sugar—"

"—makes the medicine _go down_!"

Amara's bubbly grin soon sunk from her face as she caught Jordan's puzzled stare.

"Oh my gosh, Jordy!" she shrieked, her mouth popping open. "Please tell me you've seen Mary Poppins!"

"Mary who?" he asked, his South African accent thick through his tone.

Amara slapped a hand to her chest as though shot. Not far off, if she was honest. "Mary _Poppins_! She was only, like, mine and Ish's childhood!" She hesitated, thoughtful. "Well, I mean…" Her lean forefinger tapped her lower lip. "She _was_ from, like, when I was four… 'til when I was maybe four and a half… Or was I five when I got into Cinderella?"

She shrugged, dismissing the thought in an instant.

"Anyway," she stated, eyes on the recipe book as she held out her hand, "pass me the sugar, Guy-Who-Doesn't-Know-Mary-Poppins!"

"You're not gonna burn the baking this time, are you?"

Amara didn't miss the cheeky smile he wore. That adorable one that set his dark grey eyes aglow.

"No, I'm NOT going to!" she squawked, nudging him playfully. "Besides, the microwave here is WAY stronger than the one I've got back home!"

Jordan's smile faded, as he twisted on his heels to coolly lean against the countertop. "… Is it weird?" he asked—rather quietly, she thought.

"Is _what_ weird?"

"Being held here against your will." His eyes were on his leather boots, pressed to the spotless floor. "I can't imagine how that must feel." He missed the split-second sorrow to flash through her hazel-eyed gaze. "Actually, that's a lie."

"How's it a lie?" Her query came softly, genuinely, with not a shred of spite.

"Well, I guess… the only reason I'm here is because of my family. The way Marik sold the job to sixteen-year-old me, it sounded so great… so _easy_." He barely suppressed a grimace. "He's… convincing like that- even without The Rod." His fingers drummed against the edge of the counter, the sound filling the otherwise silent room. "But now I feel like, I dunno, I'm… almost confined to a life of crime because it's… well, it's the only way I know how to protect them."

Jordan gave a stiff shrug and twisted his broad arms across his chest. "Two years later, I'm older and… maybe wiser… and now I'm wondering if I fucked up. Maybe I didn't need to leave them to protect them, to support them. Maybe—" He hesitated. "Maybe I was just afraid. Like, maybe I was scared I'd let them down if I stayed… so instead, I just left them. I left them… avoided them… made my sister in charge and sent money to make up for it."

Amara's brows gathered. She was sure he was holding back, hiding just how much this bothered him. There was a slight smidge of pain in those eyes, barely enough for her to spot. She wondered, briefly, just how well A'isha would be reading him if _she_ were there. Ish had always had a knack for that stuff. Unlike her. She admired that about her dear cousin. And she envied it too.

For a moment, Amara gave thought to what A'isha would say in this situation. It almost ashamed her that she didn't know.

"Do you… umm…" Mar bit her lip, mindlessly toying with one edge of the recipe book. She'd never been a good listener. "Do you regret being a Rare Hunter?"

Another shrug.

He'd definitely closed off from her.

And it hurt, far more than she cared to admit.

All she wanted was a guy to open up to her. All she wanted was a guy who felt that he could. All she wanted was a guy that saw her as good enough to bare his soul to.

Okay. Maybe that wasn't all she wanted in a guy but it certainly made top twenty—

"So," Jordan cut through her ruminations, pushing off the countertop and forcing a smile, "Care to give back that recipe book?"

* * *

 **Ataahua:** Yes, we are aware it is a SPOONFUL of sugar that makes the medicine go down… but what batch of cookies are gonna taste good with just that much sugar in them? Lol. Anywho, we hope you enjoyed this little shot. It wasn't much and probably isn't what you'd expect from an Amara Jordan side act, buuuuut… let's just say it'll be relevant later in IAN: Act I. Have a great day or night ahead, guys! Oh, and if you haven't already, please check out the poll on our page. :D


	5. Shot 5: Get Freaky

**Ataahua:** Firstly, this little shot is rated M for a, uhh, one-way Marik lemon? If that ain't your cup of tea, please don't keep reading. Ahem. So I was bored one day and decided to start writing this for a bit of practice at writing lemony things. And it's been a few months now since I started this, so I thought the poor guy deserved to finally finish. Kehehe. Oh and the title of this shot is a homage to the first lemon I ever posted on this site, which I named the same thing. I have since removed that lemon, which was under my old penname, Rugrat247.

 **Character/s:** Marik Ishtar and, err, an imaginary A'isha Dahar?  
 **Genre/s:** Hmm…  
 **Rating:** M for Marik, ahem… (mumbles) _pleasuring himself…  
_ **POV/Tense:** Third person Marik/present tense.  
 **When in the IAN timeline:** Maybe a day or two before New Year's Eve in IAN: Act I.  
 **Summary** : In which Marik has some solo fun of the smutty variety. You have been warned. Multiple times. XD

* * *

 **IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS  
Shot #5: Get Freaky**

Marik grips himself hard, imagining his hand turning soft and slender. He pumps slowly, steadily, lavender eyes easing shut.

Secretly, behind closed doors, he imagines A'isha stroking his length, nibbling his neck, hurtling him toward a breathless release.

Sweat beads on his brow. Delicately, she pulls the skin back to expose his head, swollen and scarlet. Her full, wet lips lick the tip, a coy smile shaping her mouth. She's teasing him. Oh, he knows she's the type. Daring, mischievous, demanding control. She shows it in her sarcasm, in her defiance, in the flirty way they banter.

Her hand curls around his shaft, her grip firm. She takes him in her mouth and sucks him hard. So hard his breath hitches. So hard his cock quivers. So hard sweat snakes down his temple, tickling his jawline. He doesn't notice. He feels nothing but her soft lips, her slick tongue, the heat of her breath. She strokes him in sync with every ardent suck, embracing a delicious rhythm.

His pumps quicken. So do his breaths.

Her skin is like caramel, sweet and striking. Her hair smells of lotus flower, delightfully fragrant, filling his senses as he sucks her neck. The graceful curve of her waist moulds so damn perfectly to his palms, and he mindlessly buries his nails into the softness of her skin. Her shoulders are broad, strong, and he adores the way her muscles flex as her hands grip his wrists and slam a hand to either side of his head.

He pumps firmer, faster. His lips tremble, wanton groans launching from his throat. He barely hears them.

No, all he can hear are hers.

He hears her breathless gasp as his length fills her, and his girth stretches her. He hears her pleasured mewls as he thrusts once, twice, three times; reaching her core with each precise pump. He sees her bite her bottom lip, stifling increasingly fervent moans, as they collide loud and hard, and her ample bosom grind against him, her skin like silk against his. He sees raven hair clinging to her temples, framing her face and the pleasure – the pure indulgence – upon it. He sees her breasts bouncing wildly as she rides him, moaning with every thrust, her tanned fingers twisting around the sheets.

"Sh-Shit, Ish…"

A louder, increasingly sensual moan launches from her lips, and she tips her head back. He follows suit, his scalp meeting the wall with a dull thud he fails to notice. The heated waves of euphoria dissolve the world around him, sweeping sweat across every moulded muscle, every lick of caramel skin, and a mindless moan spirals through his lips of its own accord.

He slackens against white sheets that cling to the moulded curve of his back, and the final throes of ecstasy evaporate, unveiling an empty bedroom half hidden by silent shadows. She's gone. Or rather, she was never there.

Just like the blasted tissue box he thought he'd left on the bedside table.

* * *

 **Ataahua:** Jeez, Marik. No tissue box around? What a rookie mistake! XD Anywho, I thought I might as well share this with you guys because goodness, I swear ninety nine percent of Marik smut is not MarikOC and those are the ones I personally like to read. Please do review- and have a great day or night ahead! :D


End file.
